


I Have Nothing Appropriate To Wear

by jooliewrites



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3408788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course the restaurant they’re going to is ridiculously fancy. Linen tablecloths and five-courses and a bunch of entrées he can’t pronounce. This morning Oliver spilled latte all over himself and two people next to him on the subway and if he can’t be trusted on the subway, he probably can’t be trusted in Michelin starred restaurants. He’s probably going to fling a crab cake down Mrs. Walsh’s dress or insult the sommelier by asking for the wrong wine to pair with dinner or eat his salad with the wrong fork.</p><p>He can’t meet Connor’s parents tonight. He just can’t. Maybe if he’s lucky they’re cancel or get sick or something. Maybe he could get sick. It’s possible. He has been sort of holding off a sore throat all week. Maybe he’ll get really lucky and it will grow into measles or something on the way to the restaurant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Have Nothing Appropriate To Wear

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr.  
> Prompt fill for [claufeltonblack](http://claufeltonblack.tumblr.com/):  
> Coliver prompt: Oliver meet Connor family and is sooooooo nervous about it.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!  
> -Jules xoxo

Oliver stares at the pile of clothes on his bed and worries his thumbnail. All his clothes are terrible. They’re all too worn or too old or too brown-green. There is nothing in that pile he can wear to dinner with Connor’s parents. Nothing. He knew he should have gone shopping. Why didn’t he go shopping? He drags a hand through his hair and turns back to the closet, as if by some miracle the perfect suit will jump out at him. It doesn’t but Oliver starts flipping through them anyway.

Of course the restaurant they’re going to is ridiculously fancy. Linen tablecloths and five-courses and a bunch of entrées he can’t pronounce. This morning Oliver spilled latte all over himself and two people next to him on the subway and if he can’t be trusted on the subway, he probably can’t be trusted in Michelin starred restaurants. He’s probably going to fling a crab cake down Mrs. Walsh’s dress or insult the sommelier by asking for the wrong wine to pair with dinner or eat his salad with the wrong fork. 

Oliver sits down on the pile of clothes and rubs a hand over his eyes. This is going to be a disaster. He can’t meet Connor’s parents tonight. He just can’t. Maybe if he’s lucky they’re cancel or get sick or something. Maybe he could get sick. It’s possible. He has been sort of holding off a sore throat all week. Maybe he’ll get really lucky and it will grow into measles or something on the way to the restaurant.

“Hey,” he hears Connor call from the door but doesn’t respond. Connor will find him, the apartment isn’t that big, plus Oliver’s too busy trying to figure out if he should say they need to cancel because he’s got the flu or go with something a little more exotic, like malaria. “Ollie? Where are—? Oh.” Connor stops short in the bedroom doorway, taking in the mess that is their closest and bed. “So—how’s it going?”

“I have nothing to wear,” Oliver explains. Sometimes his boyfriend is an idiot.

“Have you checked under you?” Connor teases, pushing some clothes aside to sit next to him on the bed. “I think you may be missing a few things.”

Oliver gives Connor a bland look. “I have nothing _appropriate_ to wear.”

“I don’t really think that’s—”

“I don’t know how to order things in fancy restaurants.”

“Well, it’s remarkably similar to—”

“I don’t know anything about the stock market.”

“I didn’t know there was going to be a quiz at—”

“Your dad’s a broker, Connor. What am I going to talk to him about?”

“That’s not really—”

“And what am I going to say to your mom? You won’t tell me anything about her?”

“She’s a big fan of plastic surgery. You could—”

“Never mind. You don’t get it. It doesn’t even matter.” Oliver stands to start surveying the closet again. “Your parents are going to hate me.”

“Okay. That’s enough.” Connor rises to stand in front of him and takes Oliver’s hands in his. “Listen. They are going to love you.” Oliver starts to shake his head and opens his mouth to interrupt. “No. They are. I promise.” He kisses Oliver lightly. “Don’t be too freaked about the restaurant. The wait staff are used to people being nervous; just follow their lead. And if it gets really bad just say whatever my mom ordered sounded great and get that too. It works every time.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.” Connor nods. “My sister’s husband does it all the time. Mom never catches on. And don’t worry about my dad. Odd’s are he’s going to be looking at his phone the whole time so you don’t need to be concerned with conversation. But if he does look up, just say you think the Fed is really screwing things up and he’ll be off.”

Oliver pauses. “Is the Fed really screwing things up?”

“No idea,” Connor says. “I’ve listened to him rant about it for my whole life and I’m not even sure what the Fed is. It just gets him started and then you sit back and just nod along.” Connor turns to pick through the few thing’s Oliver still has left hanging in his closet. “And you won’t really have to worry about making conversation with Mom. Sorry but I think it’s just going to be her grilling you about your family and friends and school and job and all that other mom stuff.”

“Really? An interrogation for the whole meal?”

“Hey, you’re getting off easy.” Connor pulls out Oliver’s blue suit and hands it to him. “Remember last month when you dragged me to what you said was your niece’s birthday party but ended up being a five-hour session with your father and brother giving me the shakedown.” Connor shudders with the memory. “And I didn’t even get cake after.”

“You got cake.”

“Ice cream cake is not cake,” Connor explains for the thousandth time. “Cake is cake. With buttercream frosting and those really big icing flowers. Ice cream is not cake. Ice cream is something you get on the side of cake.” He bends down to pick out shoes. “Here, wear these. Also, you didn’t even try to rescue me.”

“I did too!” Oliver defends for the thousandth time. He just knows they are going to replay this argument for the rest of their lives. “Mom kept giving me more crap to do and then Maggie dragged me down to the basement and Scott needed help with his computer and—”

“See! You didn’t rescue me.” Connor shudders again. This time it’s exaggerated and he really hopes it makes Ollie smile just a little, which it does. “Five hours with your terrifying father. He was all but polishing a shotgun while he talked to me.”

“Don’t make it out like—they were just trying to get to know you Con—you know what—whatever,” Oliver mumbles. He’s really not in the mood to argue this again right now. “Is this suit really going to look okay?”

“It’s going to be perfect.” Connor pulls him close but Oliver is still just looking at the suit in his hands. “Hey look.” Oliver looks up. “You are going to be perfect. You are perfect.” He kisses Oliver lightly and rubs a thumb along Oliver’s jaw before turning away to head into the bathroom. “Now get dressed. I gotta shower. We’re gonna be late.”

“Alright,” Oliver says, mostly to himself since Connor’s headed to the bathroom, and carefully lays the suit on the bed so it doesn’t wrinkle too much.

“Oh, and Ollie.” Oliver turns back to see Connor poking his head out of the bathroom. “If it really sucks, I’ll take you out for cake after. Real cake this time”

Oliver whips his t-shirt at him. “You’re an ass.”

“Real cake!” Connor calls out as he turns back into the bathroom. He starts the shower and continues to wax poetic about the virtues of cake, pitching his voice to he heard over the water. “Yellow cake with chocolate frosting. Maybe get some sprinkles and nougat in the middle. Oh! Or chocolate cake with chocolate frosting—”

Oliver listens to Connor debate with himself the pros and cons of cake verses cupcakes as he changes into the suit and forgets to be nervous. 

No matter how dinner goes, good, bad, or otherwise, at the end of the night, he’s getting cake with this boyfriend. The rest is just gravy.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com)


End file.
